Memorizing You

"It’s funny how after living for some fifty-odd years that retrospection makes your life seem like a string of scenes. Some we push away because of the pain like the death of someone close. But there are very few we visit with regularity because of their special quality; their meaning to our heart. I have visited that day, every week of every month of every year of my life since it occurred. It couldn’t be more familiar to me than if it were a painting on my wall that I woke to see every morning."

"It’s hard to want to fit in and not be able to,” his voice came barely above a whisper. “They make us feel like it’s easier to lie than be truthful. Easier to hide than be seen. Make us feel like we did something wrong to not be like them. Like we made a conscious choice."

"And then I looked up the word secret. The word that gave me so much pain. Its definition said that a secret is something kept from the knowledge of many but the initiated or privileged. Sheltered and secure. And that’s when I realized that a secret was okay. Because I did feel privileged. I did feel sheltered. And I was secure. I was all those things because of my ‘secret’. You. And I’m okay with that now."

"You brought the smile inside me. The joy. And I wanted to show you off to the world. I wanted them to see and know the one who gave each heartbeat a purpose. But I couldn’t. And I can’t because that’s how a world with missing pieces is. It’s incomplete because they can’t add us to itself. We had to be a secret. And I came to hate that word—secret—because it made us sound like we were dirty and wrong, and had to hide from others. For all the happiness I found in you, that it had to remain a secret…made me unhappy."

"She called me your boyfriend,” he said, and an involuntary giggle popped out of him. He covered it with two fingers like he was trying to pinch the grin away. I was amused by his reaction. “Yes, she did.” “Wow, that is such a wonderful thing to hear someone say.” He wrapped his arm around me. “I’m your boyfriend!"

"Surely someone out there had to be looking at me the way I looked at others. Somebody out there had to want me the way I desired others. Were they out there looking at me but going through what I was? Not being able to do anything about it?

It was frustrating. How could I be living a life I didn’t want? How could I be something no one would want to be? It’s not something I would have picked. I would change it if I could. But I knew I couldn’t. This is no different than our eyes being blue, our skin being white. Being tall or short. None of these things are choices. They have no right making us feel like our love is out of sync with what’s normal. It’s no different than all of us breathing the same air and still being completely different creatures made of the same stuff. They want to tell us that love has one direction, one capacity, and one purpose. What horseshit. Love is about caring for another human being. What’s wrong with that? We can’t control this any more than we can control what day the sun shines and what day it rains. What makes them think we can just wake up one day and make a choice like this?"

"I would sneak my mom’s Spiegel catalog and thumb through the pages of men in underwear. And even though you couldn’t really see anything—they made sure there were no unsightly bulges in those days—they were a good jumping-off point for a masturbatory session. However, this time I turned to the women’s underwear section. I thumbed through all four pages displaying women in various bras and underwear. I stared and stared. I tried playing with myself as I stared. Nothing happened. I thumbed back to the men’s underwear section. The first page gave me an instant erection. I grabbed onto it and thumbed back to the women’s section. It died in my hands."

“Whatcha doing?” He smiled and blinked. “Memorizing you,” his voice said, dreamily.

“Whatcha doing?” He smiled and blinked. “Memorizing you,” his voice said, dreamily.

“Years from now, they’ll look back on the experiences of their lives and their ‘first time’ will be no different than when they got a baseball glove, or a doll,” he continued. “I want that, when I’m in my fifties and I look back to my first kiss, I think, Wow! I want to remember it as being amazing. That it’s one of the most special moments of my life. I want to remember the person I share that with to be important to me. Not just someone who happened along at the right time. It’s not just an act of the body. It’s an act of the heart.”

”You brought the smile inside me. The joy. And I wanted to show you off to the world. I wanted them to see and know the one who gave each heartbeat a purpose. But I couldn’t. And I can’t because that’s how a world with missing pieces is. It’s incomplete because they can’t add us to itself. We had to be a secret. And I came to hate that word – secret - because it made us sound like we were dirty and wrong, and had to hide from others. For all the happiness I found in you, that it had to remain a secret…made me unhappy.

And then I looked up the word secret. The word that gave me so much pain. Its definition said that a secret is something kept from the knowledge of any but the initiated or privileged. Sheltered and secure. And that’s when I realized that a secret was okay. Because I did feel privileged. I did feel sheltered. And I was secure. I was all those things because of my ‘secret’. You. And I’m okay with that now.

”Sometimes I feel like I’m caught in your gravity. And no matter where I am, anywhere in the world, if I wrote ‘I love you’ on a note, and made a paper airplane, and threw it into the breeze…it would still find you. My words couldn’t escape you, any more than I can.”

”Perhaps there will be bluebirds this year.“